


trivial encounters

by asweetepilogue



Series: Geraskier Octoberfest 2020 [10]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Coming In Pants, Drunk Sex, Dry Humping, Improper Use of White Gull, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, and also who i am, but also jaskier waxes poetic a couple of times because thats who he is, the boys are oblivious unless they're smashed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27137840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetepilogue/pseuds/asweetepilogue
Summary: “Help me undo them,” Jaskier whines, leaning closer into Geralt’s space. He could probably figure it out, but the drink is making everything so hazy and trivial, it doesn’t feel like a risk at all to ask for Geralt’s help undressing. Feels like a singularly phenomenal idea, actually, the more he thinks about it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Octoberfest 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957933
Comments: 7
Kudos: 228
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection





	trivial encounters

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt Dry Humping by [witcher-and-his-bard on tumblr](https://witcher-and-his-bard.tumblr.com/post/630816925945085952/so-because-i-am-an-indecisive-disaster-my-roommate)

Jaskier stumbles on his way up the stairs, his shin banging into the hard wood in a way he knows will bruise tomorrow. Now, though, he just laughs, feeling Geralt’s broad hands come up to grab his waist as they attempt to get to their room. He’s drunk, really plastered in a way he hasn’t been since his days at Oxenfurt, and Geralt is just as bad off. He’d been spiking his ale with White Gull all night, which Jaskier knew had to be _disgusting_ , but it sure got the job done. Geralt’s breath huffs out against the back of Jaskier’s neck as they fumble towards the room, and his hands are still petting at Jaskier’s flanks. The inn below had been warm from the press of bodies and free flowing spirits of all kinds, and Jaskier is flushed from drink and his earlier performance and Geralt’s proximity. 

They reach the room and Jaskier immediately starts stripping off his sweaty clothes, the doublet taking him far longer than usual in his inebriated state. While his fingers are getting tangled up in the laces, he looks on with bleary eyes as Geralt trips out of his boots and roughly pulls off his shirt, his usual grace lost. Jaskier watches Geralt’s forearms flex as he wrestles with the buttons on his too-tight pants and feels his mouth go dry despite the number of ales he’s had. 

He’s made a hopeless mess of his shirt. With a whine, Jaskier stumbles over to Geralt, who is still working on the trousers. “Geralt,” he says, “Need help. The shirt is -” He fumbles for the right word. “Shirt is con- conspir-” He gives up. “Being mean. To me.”

Geralt seems to forget his intentions with his own pants - a shame, Jaskier thinks - and looks up at Jaskier, taking a few moments to really focus on him. He squints at Jaskier’s face and then looks down at his half undone laces and then back up, clearly trying to work out exactly what Jaskier was after. “Uh,” he says, helpfully. 

“Help me undo them,” Jaskier wheedles, leaning closer into Geralt’s space. He could probably figure it out, but the drink is making everything so hazy and trivial, it doesn’t feel like a risk at all to ask for Geralt’s help undressing. Feels like a singularly phenomenal idea, actually, the more he thinks about it. Jaskier watches Geralt’s fingers as they reach towards him and resists the urge to lick his lips. 

“Fussy,” Geralt admonishes, but he’s smiling and his tone is amused. Jaskier giggles, reaching out a hand to brace himself on Geralt’s shoulder. The fact that Geralt is currently shirtless slams to the forefront of his awareness at the same moment that Geralt’s fingers reach out to tug at his laces. Geralt stills at Jaskier’s touch, and Jaskier can feel his heartbeat thudding under his palm, faster than normal. Suddenly their closeness is overwhelming, and Jaskier finds himself dizzy with it. Or maybe it’s the booze, he’s not sure anymore. Geralt’s knuckle brushes over his exposed chest just above the v of his shirt, and Jaskier lets out a tiny gasp. 

“Geralt,” he says, breathless, and it’s a question but he doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking for. His hand grips Geralt’s shoulder at the place where it meets his neck, fighting for balance, and he finds himself looking down at Geralt’s lips. 

Luckily Geralt seems to understand him, even when Jaskier doesn’t understand himself. His fingers tighten in Jaskier’s shirt, half undone, and he says, “Fuck, Jaskier,” before crushing their mouths together in a bruising kiss. 

It’s a sloppy, messy thing, just the uncoordinated slide of lips, but it’s so fucking good it makes Jaskier’s toes curl. He tries to focus, to control the speed and correct the angle like he knows to do, but then Geralt is sucking on his tongue and Jaskier’s knees go weak. He’s half hard already, gasping into Geralt’s mouth as his hands run up the witcher’s bare chest. His fingers dance over a nipple by chance and Geralt _growls_ , biting Jaskier’s lip almost hard enough to break skin. His fingers are still clenched in Jaskier’s shirt, holding him close. The other comes up to cup his jaw almost reverently, urging Jaskier to open his mouth for further exploration. He’s only too happy to obliged, shuddering as he feels Geralt’s tongue on the backs of his teeth. 

Finally he has to break away, too drunk to coordinate kissing and breathing at the same time. Geralt is not dissuaded, refocusing his efforts on Jaskier’s throat. They’re pressed close now, chest to chest, and Jaskier moans as Geralt sucks hard just below his jaw, working the skin there with his teeth. When he’s finished, Geralt laves over the area with his tongue, and that more than the bite causes Jaskier’s hips to jerk forward reflexively. He’s met with the unmistakable bulge in Geralt’s trousers, and they both gasp at the newfound friction. 

“Fuck, Geralt, that’s so -” Jaskier grinds out, unbelievably undone already. Geralt grunts against his neck and then suddenly Jaskier is being lifted up into the air, Geralt’s hands under his thighs. The show of strength and change in elevation makes Jaskier’s head spin and his cock twitch. Before he can dwell on it he’s being tossed into the room’s single bed and Geralt is crawling over him, tugging at his hips to drag Jaskier back to his mouth. He goes willingly, biting off eager noises into the kiss. At the same time he throws a leg around Geralt’s hips, thrusting up into the bulk of him. Even through the layers of clothes it feels incredible, and Jaskier finds himself fully hard in moments. 

He wants to touch Geralt everywhere, to put his mouth on the cock he can feel rutting against his own stomach, but it’s too good to stop. He’s too distracted by the way Geralt bites at his lower lip only to sooth it with a kiss a moment later, the way his hands are rucking up Jaskier’s shirt to trace over his ribs. Jaskier gives as good as he gets, reaching around to claw at Geralt’s back. The first rake of his nails elicits a gasp that finds its way directly into Jaskier’s mouth, like a secret breathed past his lips. Jaskier wants to keep it locked inside himself, never to escape. 

He’s shocked to realize that he’s not going to last long. Even with the drink and their fumbling, uncoordinated motions it’s good, so good Jaskier can’t even believe it. How can it be so good already, he wonders, when they're both drunk and inexperienced with each other? But it is, it’s so good Jaskier feels nearly faint with it, ready to beg if he needed to. Geralt is so close Jaskier can’t even see him, his face tucked into Jaskier’s neck as they thrust mindlessly against each other. Jaskier can feel Geralt’s breath against the column of his throat, heavy pants punctuated by tiny, cut off sounds that go straight to Jaskier’s cock. He wants, hopes, to be able to spread Geralt out and take him apart oh so slowly, to work him over until he can’t help but let those sounds spill forth. Jaskier wants to touch him in every place that Geralt tucks away, hidden and shameful, and breathe love against his skin. 

“Geralt,” he pants, “Geralt, I’m close, I’m so close, oh, fuck, please, just -” Jaskier clenches his eyes shut, straining upwards as Geralt presses down, and he feels a warmth envelope the skin of his shoulder before the harsh press of Geralt’s teeth biting down. It’s all he needs, warm ecstasy flooding over him and making his hips stutter as he spills into his trousers. Geralt grinds against him through the aftershocks, Jaskier falling bonelessly to the bed. For a moment he just breathes, trying to get his bearings. 

Geralt is still panting and desperate above him, his cock rubbing insistently against Jaskier’s thigh. Jaskier looks up at him, still breathing hard in the aftermath of his orgasm, and finds Geralt staring back with wild eyes. It’s enough to make Jaskier’s stomach clench, a distant kind of arousal that’s diluted by his recent orgasm. He reaches up to tangle one hand in Geralt’s hair while his other slips down to cup his cock. Geralt’s eyes fall shut as he sucks in a needy breath, thrusting into Jaskier’s palm. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Jaskier murmurs, encouraging. He releases Geralt for a moment, only so that he can slip his hand inside his unbuttoned trousers. A startled moan spills from Geralt’s lips as deft fingers wrap around his length, too sudden to be muffled against Jaskier’s skin. It takes only a few short tugs before he goes still and taut above Jaskier, warmth spilling over his hand. Jaskier works him through it, relishing in the choked noises that Geralt makes as he comes. Finally Geralt pulls away, flopping to the side. 

For a moment they just lie there, sweaty and sated. Too soon, though, Jaskier is reminded that he came in his pants like a teenager on Beltane and has to wrestle out of the soiled garments, tossing them to the floor with a grimace. There’s a huff of laughter behind him, and Jaskier turns to see Geralt watching him. The smile playing across Geralt’s face knocks the breath from his lungs, and he decides that he’s actually too drunk to address the situation at the moment. Flinging himself back down, he curls up next to Geralt. Without getting up, Geralt shucks off his own pants and tosses them aside, lying back down to face Jaskier. They’re close enough that he can feel Geralt’s breath on his face, but not close enough to touch. Jaskier sighs. 

“Come here,” he says grumpily, and reaches out to tug at Geralt’s shoulder ineffectually. Looking a bit shamefaced, Geralt shuffles closer, tugging Jaskier against his chest. They’ll have to talk about this in the morning, Jaskier knows. Neither of them is so drunk that they could pretend it didn’t happen. But that’s a problem for the morning, and right now Jaskier is sweaty and sated and held in a warm embrace. It could wait. 

They fall asleep curled together in the dark, and wait for morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed lovelies! this is only my second ever explicit fic, so let me know if you find any issues with it in the comments. It's unbetad so there's a strong chance there are areas where my blocking has gone wrong. I'm always open to concrit so don't hesitate to point out anything that's off!!
> 
> come send me prompts or whatever on tumblr! [asweetprologue](asweetprologue.tumblr.com)


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